


into something good

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Relationship Negotiation, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: It takes a little negotiating, but eventually they all end up in bed together.
Relationships: Cliff Booth/Francesca Capucci/Rick Dalton, Cliff Booth/Rick Dalton, Francesca Capucci/Rick Dalton
Comments: 7
Kudos: 57





	into something good

**Author's Note:**

> Very pleased at Brad's Oscar win, can't believe I managed to finish this FINALLY.

"I think I'd like to ask Francesca out on a - a social outing," Rick says, one hand tugging at the pocket of his jacket, three days into filming _Red Blood, Red Skin_ , watching Cliff as he works oil into the leather of his new boots.

Cliff doesn't look up. "You running this one by me, or... what?"

"Well." Rick wishes he had his cigarettes right now, but he forgot today's pack in his trailer, and the other pack is in his bedroom, all the way at the end of the hall. They're in the kitchen of the rented flat; Cliff's sitting at the table while he works on his boots. 

"Yeah?" He looks up now.

"I thought I'd - since, shit - we - you know," Rick mutters, the words a mess, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth as a flush rises in his cheeks. "Sometimes."

Cliff's been buffing with a rag in a circular motion this whole time. His hand, large and familiar, stills on the leather. He looks up at Rick without raising his head. "You thought since we help each other out sometimes, I might have some objection to your seeing Francesca?"

"That... was what - what I was attempting to convey, yes. _Fuck._ "

"I have no objections." Cliff resumes buffing.

Rick shifts his weight uncomfortably, then says, "Since I haven't courted a whole lot of women since that whole -"

"I know," Cliff interjects. "You don't need my permission to fuck her, man. Go ask the lady to dinner."

*

His proposal is fumbling, mumbled almost more to the glass of red wine he's drinking than to Francesca herself. "You want to go to, uh - to America, right?"

"Yes." She looks at him over the rim of her own glass of wine. They're in the restaurant attached to the Seville hotel where half the on-location crew is staying. It's late and they're the only people at a table, with a bottle between them and a fat candle that's burning down. There's an ashtray at Rick's elbow.

"We could get married," he coughs. "Make it a little easier for you to come over."

"You want a wife?" Francesca gives him a shrewd look. They've had a good time, and a good time in bed, and Rick likes her more than anyone else he's met on this strange little movie-making jaunt, but it hasn't exactly been what he'd call _romantic_.

"Sure," he says. "Sure. Why not?"

Francesca takes another drink of her wine, a contemplative look on her face. "Would you make me change my name?"

Rick waves his free hand in a vague manner, shaking his head. "No, no, no. You wouldn't need to do that unless you want - wanted to, honey. I think Capucci might play good in Hollywood, yeah. It's exotic. Like - like Pier Angeli."

"You know, that is only her surname. Made into two names."

Rick didn't know that. "Really? Huh. Well, what about…" He snaps his fingers. "Mastroianni kept his real name."

Francesca tilts her wineglass slightly in his direction, nodding. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. It is a plan." She smiles, then holds out her glass. " _Salute!_ "

"Uh, chin-chin," Rick replies, as Francesca keeps smiling, leaning across the table for a kiss.

*

"Can I, uh - ask you somethin'?" he asks Cliff one evening in October, as Cliff is attempting to light the barbeque so that he can grill more steak than the three of them will ever eat. The sun is just barely beginning to set, cutting across the roof of the house to shade half the pool.

Cliff gives him a look that Rick can't read through the sunglasses but understands anyway, just from the angle of Cliff's shoulders in his faded white t-shirt. "Yes."

Rick's glad that holding on to his cocktail stein is giving him something to do with his hands. His face feels hot. He has to work his jaw a second to talk. "Might be a bit queer."

Cliff waves the pack of matches in his direction. "Out with it."

"You lighting the barbeque or what there?"

"That's not your question," Cliff replies, pointing at him. 

Rick takes a fortifying drink of his sour. Through the sliding glass doors, he can see Francesca in the kitchen, bobbing her head to the music that's on while she makes a salad to go with the steaks. "Would you… mind… driving the Caddy while Fran and I, uh." He presses a hand to his mouth, then waves it uselessly in the air while Cliff keeps looking at him, waiting. "In the backseat."

Cliff's forehead wrinkles upward above his sunglasses. "Right now?"

"No, no, not right now. You're grillin' right now."

Cliff looks like he's thinking about it, while he lights kindling and tucks it around the charcoal. Then he closes the lid for the whole thing to heat up, and looks over at Rick. "Yeah, why not?"

*

"Good thing you didn't want to do this in my car," Cliff says dryly, while the sunlight streams over the dashboard and illuminates Francesca's face as she laughs and gasps at the same time. Rick's certain he's sweating; the back seat is barely large enough even with the windows rolled down.

"Good thing I bought a Cadillac," he manages to reply, the absurdity of this whole idea swelling up in his chest, making him tip forward slightly and laugh against Francesca's neck. 

She slaps lightly at his back, and Rick can feel her shudder. Her face is completely flushed. "Move, please."

"Baby, maybe we didn't think this through," he whispers in her ear, and she starts giggling again, which makes Rick sweat more, because he can feel every tiny vibration. He thinks his hands might start slipping against the seat where he's bracing himself above Francesca's shoulders. 

"Could pull over," Cliff suggests. Rick glances at the mirror and sees Cliff's face tilted up, looking back. "Or maybe Frannie should get on top."

"Yes," Francesca gasps. "Yes?"

They untangle themselves with care. Rick's glad he'd only undone his slacks - he hadn't anticipated how damp their skin would get with sweat, even with the breeze flowing through the open windows. Francesca wiggles out from under him and he manages to get onto his back, feeling both absurd with his cock out and wet, but also still shivering from all the conflicting sensations, not even counting Cliff halfway watching via the rearview mirror. 

Francesca manages not to brain him with knees or elbows as she gets a leg over his waist, then slides back down onto his cock. She's braless under her shirt, and Rick slides a hand up underneath it to rub his thumb over each of her nipples in turn. Her moan is ragged and breathy right in his ear. 

In this position, all Francesca has to do is rock her hips a little, and they kiss messily at the same time, gasping into each others' mouths. Her teeth catch on his bottom lip. Rick can feel the sunlight hitting them. He thinks he can even smell the ocean as Cliff guides the car along the curves of the highway. The counterpoint of it all to the heat of Francesca's body around his cock is making him feel like he might melt right into the seat at any moment, just float right away. 

"Somehow, this is not anywhere close to the craziest thing I've ever done," Cliff says, and Rick feels the car pick up some speed as the radio starts to play a Simon and Garfunkel song he hasn't heard before.

*

"I think we could invite Cliff to bed," Francesca says one morning, as Rick tries to make pancakes. It's going fine; he used a mix.

"What's that again, honey?" he asks around his cigarette. He's trying to cut back, really, so that he can make it through long shoots without jonesing, but he at least needs one with breakfast. 

"You have been to bed with him, so why not me?"

Rick looks up from the pan. Francesca's sitting at the kitchen table in a satin robe and nothing else - the same thing he's wearing, but in a different color - looking at him and drinking her cup of coffee. 

"You really want to?" he asks.

"Do you think it's a bad idea?"

Rick shrugs. He flips the pancake over in the pan. "Not necessarily, honey. I guess as - as long as that's something you want to do."

"I want to."

"All right."

The pancake looks alright, not burned, not too pale. He adds it to Francesca's plate. "This is the first time you have cooked since I came," she says, looking down at it. With a vaguely dubious expression, Rick thinks.

"I used to mostly eat on set, unless Cliff would make us some sandwiches, or we'd get a pizza," he admits. He stubs out his cigarette, then pours another measuring cup full of batter into the frying pan, only dripping a little on the counter. 

She stabs the piece of pineapple with her fork, puts it in her mouth, and chews thoughtfully. "Can he cook?"

"He grilled all that stuff the other night."

"That is true." Francesca points the fork at him. "All the more reason we should invite him to bed."

Rick really can't argue with that.

*

"Well, hell yeah," Cliff says, when they bring it up. "I haven't gotten laid in like a goddamned year. Right now?"

"Maybe once we're not at a restaurant," Rick replies, raising his eyebrows at Cliff over his margarita. Francesca is laughing and not doing a thorough job of hiding it; her glass is trembling. 

"You guys aren't just bullshitting me because you're drunk, right?" Cliff looks between the two of them, his face going from interested to serious in a split second. He could have been an actor, Rick thinks, and not for the first time. He's got all the right moves. He's got a great face for the camera. 

"We are not," Francesca says.

"All right."

Their waitress comes into view, and Rick flags her down. "Could we get the check, darlin'?"

Cliff drives them all back to the new Toluca Lake condo, where Brandy is waiting. Rick never considered himself much of a dog person - there were always dogs on the farm growing up, but they lived outside and in the barns - but Francesca and Brandy bonded that night with the break-in, so Brandy is over a lot even when Cliff isn't. 

Not that Cliff isn't over a fair amount.

"We're gonna walk for a bit, but then I'll be back," Cliff says as he clips the leash to Brandy's collar, almost like he's giving Rick and Francesca a chance to back down on their offer.

"Rick will make you a drink," Francesca replies. 

Rick's palms are a little damp, and he rubs them on his jeans. Cliff gives him a knowing smile, takes a cigarette from the box, and goes out the door with Brandy. 

"Unzip me, please?" Francesca asks, turning to present Rick with the back of her dress. So far, a large portion of being married has involved helping Francesca into and out of her clothes. He draws down the long zipper and the dress falls to the floor; she steps out of it, then lifts it up with the toe of her high-heeled shoe before carrying it into the bedroom.

The condo really isn't much smaller than the house was, but it was much less expensive. Mostly they'd given up some living room space, the pool, and the Polanskis as neighbors. Even Rick had to eventually admit that the money situation outweighed the occasional get-together, not to mention Sharon and Roman were busy with the baby. 

He'd asked Fran, after they'd visited the Polanskis one last time before moving, if she wanted a baby. She stared at him with wide eyes. "I want a _career_."

"Oh, thank God," he muttered, which Francesca thought was funny.

Cliff returns while Rick is making a pitcher of daiquiris, and Francesca's stretched out on the sofa in her robe. Brandy runs for her and Rick watches Fran scratch her head for a while, but when Fran points at the large dog bed in the corner of the room, Brandy goes. "I've lost my dog to your wife," Cliff sighs, taking a long drink from the glass Rick hands him. 

"Sorry, buddy." He takes another glass to Francesca, who sips gingerly and says it's strong. "I can't make anything that ain't strong, darlin', you know that."

"Too strong and I will be asleep before we can go to bed."

"In that case, let me water it down for you," he says, reaching for the glass. Francesca draws it protectively close to her body. Rick can hear Cliff laughing at them. "Well, all right."

They trade set stories, mostly just for something to talk about, while they finish off the pitcher. Fran's gotten a couple episodes on a soap, playing an Italian heiress who arrives in whatever town the show is set in to take a run at convincing the son of the main character to marry her. Rick's read the scripts; at the end of her last episode, the character is struck by a car, setting off a mystery over whether the son killed her, or the main character's henchmen, or if it really was an accident. It reads like pretty standard soap opera stuff to Rick, but he's still happy she booked it. 

Cliff finishes his daiquiri off first, and stands up from the chair he'd sprawled in. "Are we doing this tonight or what? Otherwise I should head home, blow off a little steam. If you know what I mean."

Rick looks at him. Cliff's slacks are tight, and hide nothing. He swallows what's left of his drink and sets it on the glass top of the coffee table with a loud click. Francesca rolls off the couch and to her feet in a single smooth move that Rick is vaguely envious of, knowing how much rum was in those daiquiris. He feels slightly unsteady himself, but decides to blame nerves over what they're about to do, and not the alcohol. 

Cliff raises his eyebrows, then pops the buttons on his slacks and walks down the hall to their bedroom with the waistband loose on his hips. Rick can feel the blood rushing to his groin, and he rubs his palm over his cock through the material of his pajama bottoms. Francesca wraps her hand around his arm and pulls him along, although Rick definitely doesn't need to be lead into this one. 

Cliff is already stretched out on the bed, now minus his t-shirt. "Well, who's first?" he asks. He wiggles his fingers at Francesca. "You. Come here."

Rick watches Cliff reel Fran in once she's close enough, listens to him encourage her to sit on his face. Rick lies down next to them and watches Cliff's thick fingers push Francesca's panties to one side, watch him tilt his chin up to get his mouth on her. She shivers at the first touch. Rick watches Cliff's tongue move, reaches out enough to hold Fran's robe out of the way so his view isn't obscured. "Cliff, oh, God -" she gasps, then something so quick in Italian that Rick doesn't catch it. 

Cliff laughs. "Yeah, it's good," he says, before his tongue goes to work again. 

Rick's sweating and no one's even touched him yet. It's a hell of a view. One of Cliff's hands is tight on Francesca's thigh, holding her in place, while the other is opening her up for his tongue. Rick feels even hotter, seeing Cliff's fingertips touch where Fran's red and slick, almost swollen now in arousal.

Fran leans down over Cliff's head, her hand tight in his hair. "Does he know what he's doing?" Rick asks her, gets a moan in reply. "Fantastic."

"Take your clothes off, Rick," Cliff says when he surfaces next.

Rick takes his time with that, as it's easy to get lost watching Cliff bring Fran to the edge, then stop until she's shaking less, then start again. She mutters another long string in Italian; this one Rick understands enough of to know she's cursing Cliff's name. Rick reaches up to stroke a hand over her breast, circle his thumb over her nipple. "Is this always how he is?" she asks, the words broken up by incoherent noises.

"In bed, yes," Rick answers, honestly. 

Cliff pauses, grins up at Rick. "Anytime you're ready, darlin'," he says to Francesca before he reapplies himself. 

After another few seconds, she makes the soft breathy sound that Rick recognizes as impending orgasm, then freezes with her head tipped back. The flush in her face goes all the way down her chest, and when Rick rubs his thumb over her nipple again, she groans and rolls off Cliff's face, breathing heavily. 

Rick pulls her close. "Good?"

Francesca makes a satisfied noise. "Good," Rick says, kissing the corner of her mouth. 

He looks at Cliff, sees him licking his lips, watching them. Cliff's so hard Rick can see the entirety of his cock through his slacks. "I think you should be getting undressed too," he says, reaching over to pull on the loose waist in punctuation. 

Cliff grins and sits up, rearranging a yawning Fran so that he can lean over and kiss Rick, hard and with teeth. Rick can taste Francesca in it, and cups a hand around the back of Cliff's neck, keeping him there until Rick's had his fill. He hears Francesca make an appreciative noise. 

"Too many clothes," Rick mumbles when he pulls back, gesturing his hand at Cliff's slacks. "Can't fuck me like that."

"Mm, I suppose." Cliff looks him up and down, his gaze hungry. 

Rick reaches down to undo Cliff's slacks further, aware of his own insistent erection. "Fine, all right," Cliff mutters after another few seconds, and rolls off of Rick to shimmy out of the tight material. 

"I see you've continued the, uh, going all commando under there," Rick says, and gets a lazy grin in reply. 

"You got some oil or somethin'?"

Rick has a little bottle in the bedside drawer; while it's been months since he and Cliff have done this, he and Francesca use it sometimes to help things along. He fishes it out from amid the wrapped rubbers and hands it over. 

Francesca wiggles back on the bed to sit up against the headboard, and Rick rests his head on her thigh, looking Cliff over. He's just as in shape as he's been since Rick met him, despite the little hitch in his step courtesy of that hippie bitch's knife. The scar is still pink. "Knife itself wasn't so big," Cliff said the day after, when they'd visited him in the hospital, "but it went in deep and I guess they had to sew up some stuff, so it looks worse on the outside."

He sounded unbothered by the whole thing. And having heard what Cliff got up to in the war, Rick figured he'd been hurt worse. 

"We haven't…" Cliff gestures vaguely. He smiles. "In a while."

"Yeah." He knocks his foot against Cliff's knee as Francesca runs her fingers through his hair. "So come on, get to it."

Cliff laughs, shaking his head, and Rick gives him a lazy grin. Cliff moves up the bed towards them - pausing to mouth at Rick's lower belly, making him shiver, then pressing a kiss to Francesca's thigh. "You gonna stay like this?" Cliff asks him.

"Yeah, this is good." He flexes his toes, then draws his knees up, sliding a lazy palm over his cock. He feels Fran's fingers slip through his hair. He looks up, and she's smiling at him upside-down.

"I wondered what men did," she says.

"Well, some do this," Cliff says, chuckling. He pushes Rick's leg a little higher, then circles rough fingertips over Rick's asshole. It's such an unmistakable, singular feeling that Rick nearly sobs. He feels like his whole existence starts to fuzz around the edges as he closes his eyes. 

"Does it hurt?" he hears Francesca ask, when Cliff pushes a finger inside him, and he shakes his head. He gropes for her hand, and feels her soft lips press gently to his wrist. 

"Whenever you're ready," Cliff says. Rick nods. He feels feverish; they haven't done this in a long time and while he might not have admitted it before now, he's missed going to bed with Cliff. The way it was easy, for a while, when they didn't have anybody else. And he already trusted Cliff like he'd never trusted anyone; that first time he didn't even have to think about it, just laid back on the bed and said it was all right, whatever Cliff wanted to do would be just fine.

He exhales purposefully as Cliff pushes into him, doing his best to stay relaxed. "Yeah, that's good," he hears Cliff breathe in his ear, a warm rush of air. 

"Hurry on up with it, Cliff," he groans.

"Yeah, yeah," Cliff mutters. He rocks his hips, shallowly, and Rick shudders at the sensation, scraping one hand down Cliff's arm. "Fuck."

He never figured this would be something he'd be into, and indeed there's never been another man he's thought about taking it for besides Cliff. Who's still keeping it slow, almost too slow, making Rick want to dig his fingertips into Cliff's arms until he speeds it up a little. "You don't have to take it so gentle, damn, Cliff," he manages to say. 

Cliff laughs again, but puts a little more force behind his thrusts. Rick feels his eyes roll back in his head. He slides a hand down to wrap around his cock, and then Cliff's hand joins his, squeezing tight. "Come on, baby," Cliff breathes right in his ear. 

"Fuck, Cliff." He feels Francesca's hair brush over his face. 

"I know you been waitin', c'mon." Cliff's grip tightens subtly, and Rick shudders as a thumb rubs over the tip of his cock. Cliff always did have the best hands, big and warm and calloused in the right places.

"I been waitin', what about you," he chokes out, but that's as far as he gets, the orgasm is rolling straight through him, unstoppable. Everything about it is white-hot and good, making his muscles all tighten up, but not in a painful way. Just in the way where he wants to float in it forever. 

"Yeah, that's it," he hears Cliff mumble, and then Cliff thrusts in hard and shakes for a second, and Rick feels the hot wetness inside of himself. Cliff breathes warm and damp against his shoulder, and Rick lifts his clean hand, works it gently through Cliff's hair. Dimly, he thinks it's softer today; Cliff must not have used any gel.

He does his best to relax and not wince as Cliff pulls out. "All right, baby?" Francesca murmurs, running a hand over his face. 

Rick stretches. The room starts to come back into focus. "I feel great," he replies.

Cliff laughs, lightly slapping his thigh. "Be back in a second," he says, and rolls himself off the bed. 

Rick watches him walk leisurely towards the bathroom, watches the muscles move under his tan skin. Then he looks up at Fran. "Well?"

"I don't think we should - could we suggest he - _fuck_ ," she gets out, her face twisting up in frustration for a moment. 

He turns his head, kisses her thigh. "I think we could fit a bigger bed in here."

"Yes, this."

"Maybe just… offer that he could stay. A while. Or forever." Rick kisses her leg again. "He might say yes. Brandy does like it here, after all."


End file.
